


Kiss from a Rose

by charming1



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, POV First Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charming1/pseuds/charming1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right before its time for advertising executive Brian Kinney to create the campaign for fashion designer Monsieur Honeycutt’s spring collection, Marty Ryder decides to retire. After the company is bought by Gardner Vance, Brian finds that he is no longer top dog and must now contend with Brandon Greene, one of Vance’s partners. As Brian fights for supremacy against Brandon at work and at play, Brian also becomes interested in the new director of the art department, Justin Taylor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s1100.photobucket.com/user/predec2/media/charming1%20banner%20photos/KissfromaRosedocx_zps3d8b10d6.png.html)
> 
> Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and its characters are the property of Cowlip and Showtime. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This story was partly inspired by the movie Boomerang from Paramount Pictures, Imagine Films Entertainment, and Eddie Murphy Productions. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> A big thank you to Marny for the beautiful banner!

Just like I did every weekday morning of my life, I parked my Jeep in my designated space on the first floor of the parking garage next to the twenty-story office building where I worked. This, however, was not going to be a normal day, especially since I may find myself without a job or a parking space with my name on it before the day was over.

After walking into the first floor lobby, I saw a gorgeous man in an expensive brown suit waiting in front of the elevators. He had a gray overcoat draped over his arm, was my height, six foot two, and also matched me in build. I would guess that he was probably a few years younger than my thirty years of age. He had shaggy dirty-blonde hair and what I saw were light-blue eyes, once he turned to look at me. He made my highly-accurate gaydar blare like a tornado siren and my dick stirred in response to new meat.

“Morning,” he said.

I made no attempt to hide the fact that I was nothing but interested. “How’s it going?” I asked after slowly licking my lips.

He stared at my mouth before dropping his eyes down to my crotch. “Good.”

Gotcha, stud. I’m never wrong.

The elevator doors opened and we both stepped inside. I hit the button for the sixteenth floor and he hit the one for the eighteenth, where test shoots were commonly done next door to the art department.

“I didn’t know that anyone was interviewing models today,” I said to the guy after the doors closed.

He chuckled a bit. “I’m not a model.”

“Well, you should be… you’re hot,” I said to him before the elevator stopped on my floor. I gave him one last glance before walking out.

“Good morning, sir,” an unfamiliar young woman said to me from behind the desk as I walked toward the reception area.

“That’s Mr. Kinney to you,” I informed her as I looked up at the brand-spanking-new  _Vangard Advertising_ sign over the desk.

They sure didn’t wait to move in…

“Good morning,  _Mr. Kinney_ ,” the receptionist repeated, a sultry smile on her face. She was clearly checking me out in my gray suit from Monsieur Honeycutt’s previous fall collection, which I looked quite handsome in, if I must say. I had my favorite black Armani overcoat open on top.

Although I hadn’t fucked a woman since college - and even then, it was a fluke - I gave her my best smile. “Good morning, Miss…?”

“Audrey,” she filled in, licking her lips much like I did in front of Model Boy moments before.

Ugh… straight women. If only she knew how many men I’ve fucked in my lifetime. Hell, I’m not sure how many I’ve fucked, since I lost count years ago.

I smiled at her again before rounding the corner and heading toward my office. At least, I hoped that it was still my office…

Despite the fact that the asshole guaranteed me a promotion to partner if we had another five million-plus year, my former boss Marty Ryder sold his agency to Gardner Vance, finalizing the deal and informing me of it the previous day. Vance would be relocating his Chicago office to Pittsburgh, which left my future in the company up in the air. In the meantime, I was going to go on about my usual business until I heard otherwise - kicking ass and taking names in the ball-busting world of advertising.

Speaking of ball busters, the current account I was working on, which I had just signed the previous week, was for menswear designer Monsieur Honeycutt’s spring collection. Emmett Honeycutt, a flaming French queen that would no doubt make Marie Antoinette’s headless corpse roll over in her grave, had just split from his former agency based in London. Rumor had it that not only did Honeycutt hate what they had pitched to him for his spring ads, he also had a lover’s quarrel with the ad man in charge of the campaign and somehow got his lawyer to void their contract.

I had met Honeycutt during Fashion Week in New York the previous September, where I was handing out my business cards and kissing ass like a shameless whore. Honeycutt was immediately taken with me, and after a party in which I had gotten properly shitfaced on Dom Pérignon and Johnny Walker Blue Label, Honeycutt invited me to his suite at the Waldorf-Astoria. Although he spoke choppy English in a thick French accent, I could always tell when a man wanted my dick without him saying a word.

Despite Honeycutt not being my usual type, I fucked the man until dawn. He had a huge dick, rimmed me for nearly an hour straight, and had no gag reflex, but his ass was very worn out - not a good combination, for a flamboyant bottom like him. Although I hadn’t bottomed since Pa Bush left office, I was seriously considering taking a ride on Honeycutt before the man passed out from exhaustion.

Man can’t live on oral alone…

Anyway, Honeycutt had kept my card and his agent had given me a call right before Christmas with an offer to take over his spring campaign. Honeycutt flew in from Gay Paris the day after New Year's and signed on the dotted line, but not before he insisted I take him out for a night on the town on Liberty Avenue, which he had read about online. I hooked him up with a bear that I knew loved getting his ass eaten, since I never did repeats.

Honeycutt’s sudden departure from his old firm gave me less than a month to come up with a brilliant concept, shoot the ads, and submit them to all the top magazines before the end of that month to be printed in March issues. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Although Honeycutt had no choice but to approve the ads because of the time crunch, I was still determined to create the best campaign possible, per my well-earned reputation. I was hoping that the campaign would open doors for other designers to sign with us, as Honeycutt was the first major fashion house to do so.

Since it was currently early January and colder than a witch’s tit in my part of the globe, a crew of photographers, hair and make up artists, wardrobe assistants, male models, and a select few lucky folks from the agency would be going to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico for the shoot in two weeks. My assistant, Cynthia, and I were supposed to go, but that all depended on whether I was still employed by Vangard at that time. I was bringing Cynthia along because she deserved a nice vacation after putting in tons of overtime before the holiday season.

I was flipping through a thick binder of photographs of male models - hardly any of as hot as Model Boy from the elevator - in my office when Cynthia knocked on my door.

“Mr. Vance wants to speak to you in the conference room upstairs,” she said in a worried tone.

I stood up from my desk and straightened my tie and jacket. “Relax, Cyn. I’m sure it’s going to be fine.” Holy fuck, I hoped so… “Ryder said that he’d put in a good word for me with Vance.”

Cynthia snorted. “You trust Ryder to keep to his word, after what he did? Just up and selling the firm out of nowhere after promising you-”

“Hey,” I said to her as I put my hands on her shoulders to calm her down. “Whatever happens, happens, Cyn. Even if Vance decides he doesn’t need me, I’ll take you wherever I go, okay? There’s no other assistant in the world that would put up with my bullshit like you do. You’re the closest thing to a wife I’ll ever have, and I don’t plan on divorcing you any time soon.”

Cynthia gave me a grateful smile as her eyes brimmed with tears. “Thanks, Boss.”

I got into the elevator and rode up to the top floor, where the executive conference room and what used to be Ryder’s personal office were located. I imagined that there were workers putting up new wallpaper in the office at that very moment.

Who I guessed was Vance’s secretary walked me to the conference room and opened the door for me. Sitting at the head of the massive mahogany table was a bald Italian-looking guy in his forties with a head like a bowling ball. He was wearing a nice suit, at least, which took some attention away from his massive dome.

I walked towards him and the man rose. He stuck out his right hand.

“Gardner Vance,” he said in a faint British accent.

“Brian Kinney,” I said as I shook his hand in a tight grip.

“Sit,” Vance instructed, making no scruples about letting me know who was in charge.

He retook his seat and I took one a few chairs down from him. They say to keep your enemies close, but…

“Ryder tells me that you’re the best account exec he’s got,” Vance said.

“He’s right,” I said.

Damned right, buddy. I had brought in a third of Ryder’s accounts, more than any other executive at his firm.

“Which is why I fired everyone else,” Vance informed me.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, but tried to play it cool. “I’ve always hated those long lines at the water cooler.” I especially wasn’t going to miss the two boneheads I was always stuck babysitting, Bob and Brad...

I gave him a tiny smile.

“He also tells me that you are arrogant, willful, and… insubordinate.” Vance added.

Ha… thanks a lot, Ryder. “I’ll try my best to live up to my reputation,” I said proudly.

“Why don’t you start by telling me why I shouldn’t fire you, too?” 

I thought about it for a few moments and delivered a speech about how I knew more about the company than he did, how my clients were loyal to me and would follow me if I left, and how he’d get more out of me than some talentless toady he’d bring in for half my salary.

After he told me that he had done his homework on the company and that he knew I would never be a loyal employee to him, he said something that surprised the hell out of me.

“Rumor has it that you’re gay.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “The rumor’s right, but unless I’m fucking  _you_ , it’s none of your business.”

He looked amused. “Actually, it is. I’m willing to keep you on for one reason and one reason only: all but one of your clients agreed to stay with my firm with or without you… and that one holdout is Emmett Honeycutt.”

“Is that so?” I asked, trying not to smile.

“I spoke with him personally on the phone over the weekend, and if my French is correct, he said that unless I kept you on, he would ruin me by telling the whole world that I am, as he said, a ‘homophobic cunt.’”

I couldn't help but chuckle. “Well, I’ll be sure to tell Monsieur Honeycutt ‘merci’ next time I talk to him.”

He gave me a stiff smile. “Per your contract with Ryder, which he transferred to me, you will maintain your current salary and benefits. You may also keep your current office, your company credit card, and your title of ‘Account Manager.’”

I nodded slowly. No partnership with the accompanying pay increase and profit share, but at least I wouldn’t be losing anything. Except... “May I can keep my assistant, Cynthia Moore, too?” I asked.

Vance told me that she could stay before the door to the conference room opened.

“Oh, Brandon, there you are,” Vance said.

I turned to see Model Boy walking towards us. “Sorry I’m late,” Model Boy said to Vance, “but I was on the phone with Raul Stevens.”

Raul Stevens was the name of the photographer who would be doing the shoot in Mexico, and I was expecting a call from him that morning.

What… The… Fuck.

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” Vance said. “I’m just getting acquainted with our new account manager from Ryder. Brandon Greene, this is Brian Kinney.”

I stood up and grasped Model Boy’s... uh, Brandon’s hand, unable to find anything to say to him.

“Brian, Brandon is a partner of my firm, and you will be working directly under him,” Vance announced.

“Oh… it will be a pleasure,” I said tongue-in-cheek as I continued to shake Brandon’s hand, which he seemed to be in no hurry to take back.

I prefer to be on top, but as long as my dick is buried in his ass…

“Brandon will also be running point on the Honeycutt campaign and he’ll be accompanying you to the photo shoot in Mexico," Vance casually added.

I abruptly pulled my hand out of Brandon’s grasp. “What?” I asked as I turned my head to look back at Vance. “That’s  _my_ account, and nobody dances center stage when I’m running the show.”

“Well, Monsieur Honeycutt said that he didn’t mind if someone else was in charge, as long as you were still on the campaign and we didn’t 'fuck it up,'" Vance said, gesturing with air quotes around the last three words like he was Dr. Evil. "I assured him that Brandon knows what he’s doing. This account opens us up to acquiring other international clients in the future, and I want the best members of my company working on it.”

I took a calming breath as Brandon placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry Brian. We’re going to get along famously.”

I turned to give Brandon a forced smile. “I just bet we will.”

“We don’t have much time before the shoot, so I put a team together to work on the campaign and they’re waiting for us to join them down in the conference room next to the art department."

“Ah, yes Brian, you must meet my art director,” Vance said, as if we were talking over tea. “He interned for me when he was a student at the Art Institute of Chicago and I gave him a job after he graduated about two years ago. He’s still quite young, but he’s the most talented and competent member of my art department, which was why I put him in charge after my old art director decided to stay in Chicago with his family. He’s remarkable.”

“You’re gonna love him,” Brandon chimed in.

After we said au revoir to Vance, Brandon and I walked down the hall to the elevator.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were earlier?” I asked him.

“You didn’t ask, nor did you introduce yourself, either,” he said. “You were too busy undressing me with your eyes.”

I hit the down button for the elevator. “I asked you if you were a model, and you said no. That was an opening for you to tell me who you actually were.”

Brandon smirked at me. “Well, the next time you give me an opening, I’ll be sure to take it.”

The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. I hit the button for the eighteenth floor.

I turned to him and said, “Trust me, pal, if anyone is going to be  _opening_  around here, it won’t be me.”

“Oh, really?” he asked.

“Mmm,” I confirmed.

“We’ll see about that,” he said before the doors opened at the eighteenth floor.

We walked down the hall into the large room where the art department was housed. I looked around and saw that Vance had kept no one from Ryder’s art department. I almost felt special, being the only one from Ryder’s creative camp that Vance chose to keep.

“Taylor,” Brandon called out to someone in the room.

A few moments later a short, thin blonde boy, probably no more than five foot nine and a buck fifty who looked about fifteen years old came walking over to us.

“Justin Taylor, this is Brian Kinney,” Brandon said to the blonde. “Mr. Kinney will be part of the team working on the Honeycutt campaign.”

_Part of the team_ … shit, I haven’t been “part” of a team in years. Just like in bed, I always worked best when I’m in charge.

“Taylor is our art director,” Brandon said to me.

Justin had big blue eyes, pouty pink lips, and a flawless fair complexion. Doing the math, I figured that he was around twenty-four years old. The only appropriate adjective I could think to describe him at that moment was “beautiful” as my gaydar blared again. His blue v-neck sweater complimented his eyes perfectly, and under it he wore a white collared shirt and a tie pattered with Tweety Bird, which complemented his hair.

Vance sure knew how to hire beautiful gay men… even if this one did have questionable taste in ties.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kinney,” Justin said as he stuck his right hand out to me.

“Brian, please,” I said as I took his hand. He had a surprisingly strong handshake for such a dainty-looking guy. I felt the squeeze of his hand all the way down to my cock.

“Brian,” he repeated before letting my hand go. I could practically taste whatever kind of minty gum he was chewing and it was delicious.

Brandon led us into the small conference room as if he owned the joint, although it was his first time in the building, from what I knew. He introduced me to a woman named Carrie Samson, another one of Vance’s ad execs. She was wearing a conservative black pants suit with a cream-colored silk blouse, appearing as young as Justin did, making me feel very old since she and I were nearly on the same rung of the company ladder.

Justin had brought in a couple of his artists to work with us. One was a young woman named Melissa Ford, whose appearance screamed “tortured artist.” Her short jet-black hair looked like it had been cut with hedge trimmers. She was wearing a tight black sweater, a black vinyl mini-skirt, black fishnet pantyhose, and black platform knee-high boots. Her eyes were lined heavily in black and her lips were painted a deep ruby red. Her long fingernails were, of course, painted black and her ears were pierced at least a dozen times with silver studs and hoops.

The other artist was a man named Jerry Hatcher, who looked to be about forty years old. Jerry was wearing a boring white button-up shirt, plain black tie, and black slacks. He was invisible next to Melissa, which may have been what he was aiming for.

The six of us spent the next hour discussing the campaign before we broke for lunch. We decided that although the photoshoot would take place in a beach resort town, very few of the shots beyond ones of the models wearing Honeycutt’s beachwear would be taken on the beach. We would take advantage of the beautiful local architecture and flora when showcasing Honeycutt’s suits and ready-to-wear line. Melissa and Jerry would fly down to Puerto Vallarta that weekend to scout locations.

Although it was quite chilly out, I walked down to a café on the next block to get some lunch. As I sat down at a small table with my cob salad, Justin walked in.

While he was waiting in line at the counter, I had a perfect view of his bubble butt from my seat. He was wearing a black wool coat, but luckily it wasn’t cut any lower than the top of his khaki pants, allowing me to see the goods unobstructed.

After receiving his meal, he turned around to find a place to sit and locked eyes with me. The café was quite busy and there were few empty chairs available.

He carried his tray over to me and smiled wide, making my cock twitch in my pants. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Not at all,” I said before he sat his tray down on the table and took the chair across from mine.

I looked down at the offerings on his tray. He had what looked like a BLT on sourdough, a bowl of broccoli cheddar soup, a baguette, and an iced tea. I could practically see the sugar floating in the tea.

“Jesus, how can you eat all that shit?” I asked him.

He looked at me curiously. “What shit?”

“All the carbs and fat on your tray.”

“I love eating carbs and fat. I was blessed with a fast metabolism,” he said before taking a bite of his sandwich. The mayo dripped onto the plate. “I don’t know how you eat  _that_  shit,” he said, referring to my salad. “I only eat lettuce if it’s on a sandwich.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?” I asked him.

“Well, my mom’s over four hundred miles away, so…” He shrugged before taking another bite.

“Lucky you,” I mumbled. “So, I guess you just dropped everything to move out here when Vance said that he was relocating?”

Justin tore off a piece of his baguette and dunked it into his soup. “Well, I had just gotten out of a shitty relationship, so I was eager to get the hell out of Chicago. Plus, the offer to run the department along with a nice pay increase sweetened the deal.”

“I guess you found an apartment in town?” I asked, although I had no clue why. I was certainly not the type to carry on a conversation with a virtual stranger over a meal… or ever.

“Yeah, I found a little studio apartment near the, uh…” He suddenly looked apprehensive. “…Gay neighborhood.”

I chuckled. “Relax, I’m a fag, too.”

He slumped in his chair in relief. “Oh, good.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him.

He bit his bottom lip. “I don’t mean good, like ‘whoo-hoo’ good. I mean…”

I laughed at how adorably goofy and awkward he was, like a Golden Retriever puppy. I almost wanted to take him home and keep him as a pet.

“You’re in good company,” I assured him.

“Brandon’s gay too, you know.”

I placed my hand over my heart as I feigned surprise. “Really? I had no idea.”

He gave me a big smile. “I didn’t know until he invited me to go to a gay bar on North Halstead Street in Chicago for a drink after work one night when I was interning at Vangard during my senior year. Apparently, I’m more obvious than I thought I was.”

“I knew you were both gay the second I laid eyes on you,” I said. “He barely looks older than you. Was he already a partner at that time?”

“No, he was fresh out of graduate school then. Vance didn’t make Brandon a partner until last year after he signed Brown Athletics, which was Vance’s dream account. Vance doesn’t know it, but Brandon was only able to get a meeting with Leo Brown after fucking Brown’s assistant in the copy room. Brandon is originally from Los Angeles and Vance used to work at a firm there with Brandon’s dad. Vance offered Brandon a job in Chicago after he got his MBA from UCLA.

"He’s twenty-seven now," Justin continued. "I just turned twenty-four last month. How old are you?”

Blech, my least favorite question to answer. “I’ll be thirty-one in May.” I watched him as he continued to dunk chunks of bread in his soup. “Did you go... to the bar with Brandon, I mean?”

He popped the sopping chunk into his mouth and nodded. I could see a light pink blush on his cheeks.

“You fucked him, didn’t you?” I asked.

“No…  _H_ _e_ fucked  _me_.”

I chuckled. “Sorry, my mistake.”

“But it was just a one-time thing,” Justin insisted. “Before we got started, he told me that he doesn’t fuck a guy for more than one night.”

A man after my own heart... “Hmm,” I said.

“And, he also said he never bottoms,” Justin added.

This just gets better by the second.

“But still, his hands and his mouth were  _everywhere_.”

“How many times did he make you cum?” I asked.

He chuckled and shook his head at my bluntness. “Wow. Uh… three, I think.”

“How big is his dick?” I asked next.

Justin’s eyes nearly bugged out as he looked from left to right at the people sitting near us. “What?!” he scream-whispered. “I… it’s not like I had a tape measure or anything.”

“Well, was it like…?” I raised my hands up, palms facing each other, and parted them about four inches.

Justin made a funny face. “I don’t remember. It was three years ago, and like I said, it was only one night.”

“Was it bigger than yours?” I asked.

He pressed his lips into a flat line. “Like, an inch, maybe.”

“I’m sure you look at your morning wood every day after you get up to take a piss. Show me how big yours is.”

He sighed before placing his hands lightly around my wrists. He parted them another three inches, making seven.

“That’s respectable,” I said. “Mine’s about…” I then parted my hands another two inches.

Justin raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think Brandon was  _quite_  that big.”

I buffed my nails on my lapel. “We all can't be. Is he circumcised?”

He snorted. “Yeah… uncut dicks scare me. They’re so ugly and you have to hold the skin back when you blow them. No, thank you.”

“I’m uncut,” I claimed.

“Oh… sorry,” he said, looking quite verklempt. Oy vey.

I smiled. “I’m kidding.”

He burst out laughing, placing a hand over his heart. “You had me worried there for a second.”

“Of course, girth is important, too.”

“Of course,” he echoed in agreement.

“But, having the biggest dick in the world don’t mean a damn if you don’t know what to do with it,” I added.

“Amen,” he said, looking up towards Heaven, if there was such a place.

We spent another ten minutes talking about cock until we both finished with our meals. 


	2. Chapter 2

After returning to the building, Brandon and I spent the rest of the afternoon flipping through the book of models in my office and calling their agents to see if any would be available for the shoot. We ended up booking four models shortly before six o’clock.

Brandon stood from the chair he had placed beside my desk and stretched his arms over his head.

“You know, we could save some money if  _you_ model some of the clothes,” I said as I looked at his long, lean body.

He chuckled. “Not that shit again, Kinney.”

“I’m serious,” I said.

He looked down at me. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re hot enough to model, too.”

“I have modeled, actually,” I said.

“Really?”

“Not professionally, but to make money when I was at Penn State, I modeled clothes for the school’s fashion program along with doing some posing for their drawing and sculpting classes.”

He looked at me curiously. “Did that include… nude modeling?”

I stood so we were eye-to-eye. I caught a whiff of his cologne, which smelled like Acqua Di Gio by Armani, which I also owned. “Yeah… several times.”

He licked his lips. “Would you ever… get hard when you did this nude modeling?”

I snorted. “Nothing kills an erection faster than standing around naked in a cold classroom in front of a bunch of drooling college girls.”

He cupped his hand over my dick, which had started to come to life as soon as he had said the word  _hard_. “What a shame,” he said.

Brandon then started to come in for a kiss, but I turned my head. “I don’t kiss,” I said into his ear.

He squinted at me as he started rubbing me through my slacks. “Why not?”

“Because people kiss when they make love,” I said. “I don’t make love- I fuck.”

He considered that for a moment and nodded. “Good point.”

I reached up and loosened his tie. “I’m a very smart man.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” Brandon said as he began working on my belt buckle.

After I closed the blinds and locked the door, we ended up on the floor in front of my desk, both of us naked. His body was beautifully toned, much like my own. He started licking his way down my chest, continuing down toward my cock. Without any hesitation, he took it into his mouth and swallowed around my nine inches.

“Gah!” I yelled out. He continued to suck my dick for several minutes as if he were going for the gold at the Fellatio Olympics until I started to shake from my building orgasm.

Moments before I was about to shoot, he pulled his mouth away and dipped his head down to start rimming me. I pulled my knees up higher to allow him better access, and he began to jerk me off as his tongue went to town on my ass.

Now I know what exactly Justin meant when he said that Brandon’s hands and mouth were  _everywhere_ …

I was lying there with my eyes closed, thoroughly enjoying the moment, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a condom packet tearing. I looked up to see Brandon place the tip of the condom over the head of his dick, which was every bit the eight inches Justin had estimated.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I asked him.

He smirked. “You’re a smart man, why don’t you take a guess?”

I grabbed onto his wrist. “You’re not fucking me, I can tell you that much.”

“You’re sure as shit not fucking me,” Brandon said.

I sat up, and we stared at each other for several breaths. “Well then… we’re at a crossroads,” I said.

He sighed. “I guess so.” He stood up a moment later and went for his clothes after throwing the condom and wrapper in my trash can.

“Uh… you’re going to leave me like this?” I asked him, motioning toward my red, leaking cock.

In lieu of uttering an answer, he started getting dressed, the bitch.

I also got up and put my clothes back on, although my dick was screaming for release. I had just knotted my tie after putting on my shirt and pants before someone knocked on my door.

Without checking to see if Brandon was fully clothed, I walked over and pulled the door open. Justin was standing outside, wearing his coat and carrying a black leather messenger bag.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m leaving for the day,” Justin said before looking past me at Brandon, who was sitting on my couch and tying his shoes.

Justin raised his eyebrows at me.

“Thank you, Mr. Taylor,” I said. “Let’s meet in the conference room at ten tomorrow, and we’ll show you the pictures of the models we booked for the shoot. I’m sure you’ll approve.”

Justin looked down at my bare feet before nodding and turning around to leave. I closed the door again.

“Don’t worry, he won’t say anything,” Brandon said as he put his jacket back on.

I highly doubted that, since Justin admitted his own tryst with Brandon to me during lunch with very little prodding, along with the tale of how he got his meeting with Leo Brown. “He didn’t see anything, so there’s nothing to tell,” I said.

“Specifically, he won’t say anything to Vance,” Brandon clarified. “We have a no-fraternizing policy in place, and he would never fuck me over like that.”

I chuckled. “Well, it’s good to know that you always follow the rules.”

“Fuck you,” Brandon said. “And you’d better not say anything about this, either.”

I shrugged. “What would I even say? I didn’t cum, so nothing happened, and I’m not going to stand here and pretend like I’ve never fucked anyone below me before.”

“Ah yes, the Kip Thomas Incident,” Brandon said.

“Where did you hear about that?” I asked. “That matter was dropped, because there was no evidence that supported his claims. It was only his word against mine.”

He gave me a wolfish grin. “I have my sources.”

I stared into his piercing eyes for a few moments before I opened the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow…  _Boss_.”

He gave me a single head nod before walking out, and I slammed the door behind him.

Asshole.

I met my friends later that evening at our favorite gay watering hole on Liberty Avenue, Woody’s. My best friend Mikey was making goo-goo eyes at his new boyfriend Zen Ben, and our friend Ted was knocking back celebratory shots of Jack Daniels.

I helped get Ted a job in the financial department at Ryder a few months back, and Vance decided to keep him on today after two of his accountants decided to stay in Chicago.

“Oh, I can’t believe it,” Ted repeated for about the tenth time that evening. “It’s such a fucking relief.”

“Uh-huh,” I said as I stared at a sexy brunette across the room.

“I was the last one Vance called to speak with him, and the whole day I had to watch as everyone packed up their desks. It was brutal.”

“Why did he decide to keep you out of all the other accountants?” I asked him.

Ted grimaced after taking another shot. He was a cheap drunk who normally stuck to beer, and it was only a matter of time before Mikey and Ben had to carry his ass out of there. “I don’t know. Why did he keep you out of the other account execs? I heard he let everyone go but you, which surprised me since I know for a fact that you were the highest-paid employee Ryder had.”

“Because I’m brilliant, of course, and worth every penny,” I answered, keeping mum about Emmett Honeycutt’s involvement. “Maybe Vance kept you because you were the newest one in the department. Loyalty seems to be an important quality to him in his employees.”

“Whatever the reason, I’m just glad he did,” Ted said, starting to slur. “It’s such a fucking relief.”

Soon after that, I took the sexy brunette to the bathroom to get a little relief of my own, which was much needed after the tease that Brandon had given me earlier. The trick was nice and tight, so I quite enjoyed myself.

I looked back at the table we had occupied after coming back out and saw that the guys were gone. Mikey was no doubt driving Ted home with Ben following behind them.

I was thinking about calling it a night until I saw Brandon of all people strut his fine ass through the door. He was wearing a black leather bomber jacket (Dolce and Gabbana if I had to guess) and tight blue jeans, much like my own current ensemble except that my jacket was Hugo Boss.

He walked over to the bar to order a drink and I walked up behind him. Without saying a word, I reached out and used my index finger to trace over the seam on the crack of his jeans, applying a bit of pressure to draw his attention.

He abruptly turned around and locked eyes with me. “Oh, it’s you.”

I flashed him a smile. “Are you stalking me now?”

He scoffed. “I don’t go to any new city without knowing where the gay bars are.”

“Well, that’s just good sense,” I said, nodding.

The bartender walked over and I said to him, “Hey Tim, this is Brandon. Get our new friend here a shot of Patrón and put it on my tab, will you?”

Brandon smirked at me. “More like a Bud Light, and I’ll pay for it myself.”

I clicked my tongue. “Well, in that case, get  _me_  a shot of Patrón,” I said to Tim.

“I guess you’re looking forward to Mexico, aren’t you?” Brandon asked.

“Hell, yeah,” I said. “Have you ever been?”

“I went to Tijuana a few times during my crazy college years at UCLA,” he said.

“I went to Cancun during spring break my senior year at Penn State,” I said. I then pulled back the sleeve of my jacket to show him the cowry shell bracelet I always wore on my right wrist. “That’s where I got this.”

He ran a finger over one of the shells. “They look like little vulvas… with teeth.”

I chuckled. “The cowry shell is a symbol of power and wealth,” I informed him. “They were used as currency in Africa and China for centuries.”

“Do you always say that when someone accuses you of wearing lady parts on your wrist?” he asked me.

I tossed back my shot of tequila. “Yes.”

He laughed as he took his wallet out of his back pocket to pay for his drink. “Very snappy.”

A pool table opened up a few moments later. “Do you play?” I asked him as I pointed to the table.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I played in a few tournaments in LA and Chicago.”

“Were you in any clubs?” I asked as I took off my jacket.

“No, I would play in local matches.”

We walked over to the table and I started racking up the balls. “Winner gets to top on any night he so chooses?” I asked him.

He smiled in amusement as he shed his jacket. “You’re that good, huh?”

“You better believe it,” I said. “I’m also a pretty decent pool player.”

“Ha ha… Eight-ball?” he asked, referring to the popular game.

I nodded and handed him a cue.

Just to be nice, I let him break and he pocketed a stripe. He pocketed another stripe before missing a shot.

I methodically started making my way around the table, pocketing a solid ball with each shot. I glanced at him after every successful shot, and he didn’t start to look concerned until I had only one solid ball and the eight ball left.

“Doing alright there, buddy?” I asked him.

He nodded before draining the rest of his beer bottle.

“How about we make this a little more interesting?” I asked.

“What, the winner gets to tie up the loser, too?”

I chuckled. “No… if I win, you don’t go to Mexico for the photo shoot.”

The last thing I wanted was his mightier-than-thou attitude ruining my trip. There would only be enough room in Puerto Vallarta for one of us.

He looked at the table intently. “That’s a pretty tough shot you have there,” he said, referring to the positions of the cue ball and my solid ball.

“It certainly is,” I agreed. I stuck out my right hand to seal the deal, and he shook it a few moments later.

I walked around the table to get into a better position, called the pocket, and sank the solid ball.

“Nice,” Brandon said appreciatively.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” I said. “I was a member of the Penn State Billiards Club, and I was president from my senior year until graduating from business school.”

He chuckled ironically. “Of course you were.”

“But don’t worry, the next time you give mean opening, I’ll be sure to take it.”

He rolled his eyes.

We both looked at the table and saw that my last shot, pocketing the eight ball, was going to be even tougher than my previous shot.

“How about we sweeten the pot a little bit more?” I asked him.

He looked at me and waited.

“If I make this shot, you go to Vance tomorrow morning and tell him you want off the Honeycutt account. I was the one who signed it, anyway.”

He looked at me like I was an idiot. “No.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, badgering him. “I’m sure you have other accounts to worry about.”

He shook his head. “None that will look as good on my resume as this one will.”

I walked closer to him and looked straight into his eyes. “Fine. How about if you can sink the eight ball right now, you win the original prize of getting to top me. Unfortunately, I have to stay on the account or else precious little Emmy Honeycutt will throw a shit fit.”

He looked at the table again and smiled nervously. “And if I miss?”

“I’ll take the next shot, and if I miss, you win. But, of course if I don’t miss…”

He looked at me for a few more moments. “Excuse me,” he said, indicating for me to give him room to take the shot.

I stepped away and stared at his tight ass as he bent over the table, licking my lips. He called the pocket, struck the cue ball, and narrowly missed the shot.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“Oh!” I said dramatically. “Ain’t that a bitch?”

He sighed as he stepped back. “Your turn.”

This time the shot was much easier, and I pocketed the eight ball effortlessly.

I walked over to him and put my arm around his shoulders. “So…?”

“I’ll tell Vance tomorrow that I’m too busy with my other accounts to focus on the Honeycutt campaign. Like you said, it was your account, anyway.”

“Good boy… and?”

He glanced over at me. “And because I will no longer be on the account, I won’t go to Mexico for the shoot.”

I smiled. “And…?”

He pulled my arm off and took a step back. “And my ass is yours… for one night only.”

“Let’s make it the Monday after I get back from the photo shoot, eight o’clock. I’ll tie you up if you want me to.”

He rolled in his lips and shook his head.

I walked into the conference room the next morning and informed the team that Mr. Greene would no longer be joining us. Carrie, Melissa, and Jerry all looked relieved. I’m sure they won’t look like that after they realize what an asshole I am…

Justin, on the other hand, didn’t react at all. In fact, he didn’t look me in the eye the entire day, even after we decided to order in some Chinese for lunch so we could continue working.

Justin announced that he was going downstairs for a smoke after he finished eating and I joined him in the smoking lounge on the fifteenth floor, which was the lowest floor the firm occupied, a minute later. He was sitting alone on the brown leather couch, which was scarred from years of people dropping lit cigarettes on it.

“We better enjoy this room while we can, because Vance is threatening to remove it,” he said without looking at me.

I chuckled while lighting my cigarette, remaining standing. “If he thinks I’m smoking outside when it’s below freezing in the winter or hotter than hell in the summer, he can kiss my ass.”

“He let us smoke in an area of the parking garage at the Chicago office, and he installed a heat lamp overhead so we wouldn’t freeze our asses off,” Justin informed me. “There were a couple of picnic tables that we could sit and eat lunch at.”

“How sweet of him,” I said. “So, you want to tell me what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

He finally met my eyes. “Huh?”

I leaned up against the wall and struck a James Dean pose. “ _Huh_?” I mocked. “You’ve been acting like a little bitch all day.”

Justin scoffed. “Well, pardon me, but all I’ve been doing today is working.”

“Right,” I said as I flicked my ashes on the carpet. Fuck you, Vance. “And your sparkling mood has nothing to do with what you saw in my office last night?”

He gave me a blank stare. “What you do with Brandon behind closed doors is none of my business.”

I walked over and sat on the couch right next to him, our thighs touching. “Cut the crap, Taylor. If you’re jealous-”

“I am  _not_ jealous,” he claimed as he scooted closer to the arm rest to get away from me. “I’ve had him, so why would I be jealous?”

“You haven’t had me,” I said.

He smirked. “And what makes you think I even want you?”

I took a puff of my cigarette and blew it in his face. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

He crushed his cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table in front of us and stood. “How did you get Brandon to leave the Honeycutt account? He was tickled pink that Vance put him on it, but then he hands it back over to you after you two… did whatever the fuck you did in your office last night.”

I smiled. “You think I fucked him so he would give the account over to me?”

He walked around to the other side of the table. “No, I think you let  _him_  fuck  _you_.”

I barked out a laugh. “Trust me Sunshine, I don’t bottom for  _anyone_ , ever.”

“Then you at least sucked his dick,” Justin said, his hands on his hips.

I got rid of my cigarette and got up to walk over to him. “I don’t do that, either. I  _get_  head, I don’t give it. How I got him to leave the account is my business, not yours.”

“You bribed him somehow, then,” he offered.

I sighed and took a good look at him. “Do you have any idea how sexy you look when you’re pissed?”

Justin took a breath to speak, but I cut him off by grabbing a hold of his  _Dennis the Menace_ tie, which he was wearing that day with a navy blue shirt and gray slacks, and smashing my lips against his. I felt his tongue push its way into my mouth before I even realized what I was doing.

I wasn’t lying to Brandon when I told him that I don’t kiss. Not since my first and only boyfriend cheated on me when I was sixteen had I kissed another man, besides Mikey. But I don’t even kiss Mikey the way I was kissing Justin.

I pulled away several seconds later and let go of Justin’s tie when I heard voices out in the hallway, just in time before Carrie and Melissa walked into the room.

Justin smoothed his tie and said to the girls, “Be sure you’re back down in ten minutes, so we get started again.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Melissa said as Justin darted out of the room. Although Melissa’s appearance was dark, I had discovered while working with her over the past couple of days that she had a great sense of humor and was really nice.

The girls went to smoke on the couch, and I walked out and saw Justin step into the elevator at the end of the hallway.

Even after our kiss, Justin continued to avoid me as much as he could over the next couple of weeks, and I allowed him to stew over whatever was going on in that blonde head of his. Melissa and Jerry had taken several pictures during their quick trip to Puerto Vallarta, and we spent the last few days before the photo shoot coordinating where we would shoot around the city, which outfits our four models would wear, and how we would match each outfit with the locations.

To save money on parking at the airport, those of us that would be going to Mexico- Justin, Melissa, Carrie, Cynthia, and I- arrived at the office parking garage at six the morning of our flight, which was on a Sunday, and rode in a shuttle to the airport. Jerry, who had a wife and a new baby, decided to stay behind. We would take a puddle jumper to Washington DC before flying down to Puerto Vallarta. It would be six p.m. local time when we arrived. We would fly back home on Saturday.

After getting our tickets and checking our luggage, the five of us walked to our gate. We still had about a half an hour before we could board, so we all took a seat.

Justin was sitting by himself about ten feet away from me. It was the first time I had seen him in casual clothes, which consisted of a black hooded sweatshirt with the _Winnie the Pooh_ characters on it and a pair of distressed jeans. I wondered if the boy ever wore anything that didn’t feature a cartoon character, since each one of the ties he wore to work was printed with a Disney, Nickelodeon, Looney Tunes, or some other type of character on it.

Although his current choice of clothes looked fairly cheap, he wore them with a pair of black Doc Martin boots that probably cost him over a hundred bucks. His messenger bag that doubled as his brief case no doubt cost over three hundred. Peeking out of the sleeve of his sweatshirt was a Zenith watch that I had priced online at around $2,500. Another expensive item that clashed with his childish wardrobe was the brand new silver Z3 BMW that he had recently purchased. Out of curiosity, I had Ted look at Justin’s personnel file to see where he lived. The “little studio apartment” that he claimed to live in was actually a loft that almost rivaled the size of mine and was located above a drycleaner two blocks over from Liberty Avenue.

I picked up my briefcase and walked over to him. I sat down on the chair to his left and took a peek at the book he was reading.

“ _Atlas Shrugged_ ,” I read out loud. “Awesome book.”

“Uh-huh,” he said without looking away from his opened page.

“Have you read  _The Fountainhead_?” I asked him, referring to another one of Ayn Rand’s books.

“Only like, five times,” he said, still focusing on his page. “I’ve read this one a few times before.”

I sighed. “Look, I am really looking forward to this trip. Not just because what this campaign will do for my reputation in the advertising world, but also because I want to get the fuck out of this freezing-ass cold city for a few days, drink some margaritas served by a cabana boy in a thong on the beach, and get pampered at the hotel’s spa. You and your bitchy attitude better not ruin it for me.”

He closed his book and looked at me. “Excuse me?”

I sighed again. “I won a bet with Brandon. That’s how I got him off the account.”

“What kind of bet?”

“A game of pool. I won fair and square,” I answered, purposefully failing to mention the original stake of the game because it was none of his business.

“Oh,” Justin said, looking a bit relieved.

I looked at the blonde for a few more moments. “Do you have feelings for him?”

His mouth dropped open in shock. “No!”

I tilted my head and squinted at him.

He closed his eyes for a second before saying, “Alright… maybe I had a thing for him after the night we spent together, since it was pretty amazing and he’s really hot, but I got over it eventually. I still care about him, though, and I enjoy working on campaigns with him. He’s very creative and he always complements me on my work. I was looking forward to working on this one with him.”

“So you’ve been pissed at me because I somehow devised a way to get him to give up the account?”

He shrugged.

“I guess that it has completely fucking sucked having to work with me over the past couple of weeks, right?” I asked with loads of derision in my voice.

“No, it’s just…” He paused to shake his head.

“Why did you kiss me that day?” I asked.

He looked at me in surprise. “ _I_ kissed  _you_? No, no, no. You kissed me first, buddy boy.”

“You didn’t have to kiss me back,” I said, not realizing how lame it sounded until after the words left my mouth.

He was about to say something before our flight number was announced over the intercom, letting us know that they were beginning pre-boarding.


	3. Chapter 3

The airplane we were flying to DC in was basically a beer can with wings. I had to duck while walking down the aisle in search of my seat, which was a single seat next to the window on the left side of the plane. Cynthia and Melissa took the two seats across the aisle from mine. Carrie was seated behind me and Justin was in the seat in front of me.

After arriving in DC about two hours later after a very turbulent flight due to storms in the area, the five of us found a Starbucks and grabbed some coffee and pastries. The assholes on the first plane only gave us tiny bottles of water because of the turbulence, and we all scarfed down our pastries as we made our way to our connecting gate.

I stayed away from Justin while we waited about forty-five minutes for our flight to board. After I got onto the plane, I discovered that Justin and I were seated next to each other in first class while the three ladies were sitting nearby. He was sitting in the window seat and reading his book when I took my aisle seat.

I heard him exhale roughly as he stared at his book. “Eleven hours until we can have our next cigarette.”

“That’s why I always wear a nicotine patch when I fly,” I said as I patted my right shoulder.

He looked at me with his mouth open. “Do… do you have any more of those on you?”

I reached over and lifted his chin to close his mouth. I then opened my briefcase that I had placed under the seat in front of me and pulled out the box of patches. He took off his hoodie, revealing a white t-shirt with a picture of Bart Simpson on the front.

I snickered as I pushed up his sleeve to stick the patch on his upper left arm. “Alright, I’ve got to ask- what’s with all the cartoon shit you wear? I mean, you’re a grown-ass man, and I’m sorry, but you dress like a toddler.”

“I’ve always loved cartoons and animated films,” he said as he pulled his sleeve back down. “I discovered when I was little that I could replicate my favorite characters in drawings, and for a long time I thought I wanted to be an animator.”

“But instead you ended up in the glorious world of advertising,” I said.

“The high school I went to, called Lake Forest Academy in the suburb I grew up in, had a great art program. One of my classes dealt with art in advertising. We had to create our own campaigns for real and hypothetical products with storyboard sketches, and I loved it. I earned a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Studio degree from the Art Institute of Chicago, and my focused area of study was in print media. I also took classes in visual communication design and photography. I still love to draw and paint in my free time, but I love my job.”

I was staring at his lips the whole time he had been talking. “Uh-huh.”

“How did you get involved in advertising?” he asked. “Or was it always your dream to talk people into buying shit they don’t need?”

I smiled at his tenacity. “No, actually I was ‘undeclared’ when I first started at Penn State. I didn’t know what I wanted to do exactly, but I knew I wanted to go to earn a degree so I wouldn’t end up working a factory job like my old man did. I took a variety of classes in my freshman year to see what I liked and I found my niche while taking a marketing class. I earned my bachelors in marketing, and then I started working for Ryder part-time while I earned my MBA.”

He looked down at his lap. “My dad was hoping I’d get an MBA from Dartmouth like he did. He thought I was wasting my time going to art school, saying that I was going to end up a starving artist bussing tables for the rest of my life.”

“But look at you now,” I said. “You’re making big bucks, sitting in first class on your way to Mexico where you’ll be staying at a five-star resort working on a campaign for a world-famous designer. I saw a CLIO Award in the lobby with your name on it, and I bet you’ll have many more in the future.”

“My dad’s not impressed with any of that. He was hoping I’d take over the family business.”

“Which is?”

“A chain of electronics stores in northern Illinois and southern Wisconsin.”

The flight attendants began the pre-flight safety presentation as we pulled away from the gate and headed out to the runway. “You mean Taylor Electronics? That’s your dad?”

He nodded. “You’ve heard of the store?”

“I flew out to Chicago a few years ago when your dad was shopping for a new advertising firm. I made a pitch to him, but he obviously didn’t like it because he never called back and instead signed with another firm.”

“That was around the same time I was interning at Vangard. He wouldn’t even let Vance make a bid because I was involved with them.”

“Yeah, I knew I wasn’t mistaking the asshole vibe I had gotten from him.”

He snorted. “You certainly weren’t. Although he’s rolling in dough, he refused to pay for my tuition because he thought it would just be a waste of money. They made too much money for me to get any grants. I was only able to go because my mom got approved for a loan. By then, she and my dad were divorced. I’m paying her back now.”

“If it wasn’t for grants, I couldn’t have gone to college. Pop had horrible credit and the Warden- that’s what we called my mom- never had a job in her life. Pop worked sixty hours a week, but we were always broke. I didn’t even know that he had taken out a second mortgage, and there’s no telling what he had spent that money on. It sure wasn’t to send my sister to college, because she never went. They were poor enough for me to get some grants, but that didn’t pay for everything. Pop said that even if he had been approved for a student loan for me, he wouldn’t have signed the paperwork.” I then imitated not-so-dearly departed Pop’s gravelly voice: “‘I’ve been bleeding money for you over the last eighteen years and I ain’t doing it no more,’ he told me. I had to get emancipated and take some loans out in my name, and I had to work all through school. I just finished paying the loans off a couple years ago.”

“Wow, I thought I had it rough,” Justin said.

“Pop died last year, and the Warden discovered how far in debt he had really been. Although they sure didn’t deserve it, I gave him money over the years to help him make ends meet- probably about ten thousand in all. He always claimed he’d pay me back, but I never saw a cent and knew that I never would. Luckily VA paid his off medical bills and his burial, because he had served in the Army during ‘Nam. The Warden actually had the balls to ask me if I would pay off their house, which was mortgaged beyond its value, and I told her she could go fuck herself. She had always stood by stoically while Pop beat the hell out of me while I was growing up. The abuse only stopped after I got strong enough to fight him back. She now lives off of his pension in a seniors’ apartment complex.”

I couldn’t fathom why I was telling him all of this, since I never talked about my family with anyone. Only Mikey and his mother Debbie knew the gory history of Brian Kinney’s upbringing at the hands of Jack and Joan, arguably the shittiest parents on the planet.

Justin grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together as we began bolting down the runway during takeoff.

“Are you scared of flying?” I asked him.

He gave me a tiny grin. “No.”

Justin let go of my hand when we reached cruising altitude. He went back to reading his book, which he was about halfway through. I took my black eye mask out of my brief case, adjusted my seat back, and tried to get a little shut-eye.

I had just nodded off when I felt Justin tap me on my arm, startling me awake. I took the mask off and saw that he didn’t look so good.

“I’m feeling really queasy all of a sudden,” he said.

“Motion sickness?” I asked him.

“No, I never get nauseous on planes, not even during the bumpy ride to DC earlier,” he said before gagging a bit and clapping his hand over his mouth. He then stood up and ordered me to get the fuck out of his way before he bolted up the aisle toward one of the bathrooms, which luckily wasn’t too far from our seats.

He had been gone for about five minutes when I decided to go check on him. I walked toward the bathroom he had ran to and knocked.

“Justin,” I called out. “Are you okay?”

He opened the door a few seconds later, looked at me miserably and shook his head. I pushed my way into the little bathroom and locked the door.

“It occurred to me that the nicotine patch may be causing your problems,” I said. “Nausea is a known side effect.”

He shot me a death glare in the foggy mirror over the sink. “Well, thanks a lot.”

I tried not to chuckle, but failed. “I’m sorry.” I then lifted up his sleeve to peel the offending thing off of his arm. I managed to get a corner loose and ripped the rest of it off quickly.

“Ow!” he yelled. “Mother fuck!”

“It would have been worse if I had done it slow,” I said.

There was a knock at the door a moment later. “Is everything okay in there?” a woman asked.

“Yeah!” I yelled.

We made our way back to our seats a couple minutes later after Justin was sure he was most likely done throwing up his coffee and cherry Danish. He was still looking sickly, and after pulling the air sick bag out of the seat pocket in front of me and placing it on the tray table for quick access, I put my arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to me.

“Come here,” I said as I ran my fingers through his soft hair. “You should feel better soon.”

He rested his head against me and relaxed. Cynthia was sitting in the seat behind Justin, and she leaned forward and spoke to us in the space between my and Justin’s seats.

“Aww… you two are adorable together,” she cooed.

“Shut up or you’re fired,” I said over my shoulder.

The next three days went by in a blur. We traveled to many different locations around Puerto Vallarta, including the Our Lady of Guadalupe church, the Malecon boardwalk, and the Mercado Isle Cuale public market. The photographer, Raul Stevens, shot thousands of pictures of the four models dressed in the clothes from Monsieur Honeycutt’s spring line.

To show off Honeycutt’s casual clothes that could double as club wear, we went to a popular gay dance club called Club Paco Paco on Wednesday night. Three out of the four models were straight, but the straight ones warmed up after I reminded them they were being paid, could drink for free, and were allowed to keep the clothes they wore. The shoot wrapped for the day around ten that night, and everyone but Justin, who thankfully was not wearing anything that night featuring a cartoon character, and I were ready to take the van we had rented back to where we were all staying, the Villa Premier Hotel and Spa.

“We’ll take a cab, don’t worry about us,” I yelled to Cynthia over the music.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes, now get the fuck out of here,” I said through gritted teeth. I was never one to party with fag hags, and I couldn’t wait to get rid of our three female coworkers/traveling companions.

Now that we were done with work for the day, Justin and I were ready for some fun. We both downed a couple of shots of tequila before going out to the dance floor. I pulled him into the middle of the gyrating crowd of sweaty men and put my hands around his narrow waist. He put his hands on my shoulders, and we began dancing to the beat of the Latin dance song that was playing loudly over the sound system.

“I haven’t been to a club in forever,” he said to me. “I forgot how much fun it could be.”

“Really?” I asked. “Not even one back in the Pitts?”

“I haven’t had the time since moving there. Back in Chicago, there was a club I often went to with a couple of friends, but then I got with Ethan and he didn’t like going clubbing, so I stopped going.”

“Who’s Ian?” I asked.

“ _E-than_ ,” he corrected. “My last boyfriend. Have you heard of Ethan Gold?”

I shook my head no.

“He’s a professional violin player, and he thinks dance music is lame.”

I frowned. “Well, I think violin music sounds like a cat getting tortured.”

He laughed. “Try living with someone who practices every waking hour for two years, and then tell me how much you hate violin music.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” I said. “Why did things end with you and Paganini Junior?”

“He cheated on me with a few of his fans,” he answered. “After I caught him with another man, he admitted that he wasn’t the first. Things hadn’t been all that great before then, though. We broke up just before Thanksgiving.”

“Well, I’ll have to take you to Babylon some night. It’s the hottest club in the Pitts.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Kinney?” he asked.

“No,” I said, although it sure sounded like I was. “It’ll be just two fags going to a club together to drink and dance… like we’re doing right now.”

He smiled and pulled me closer. “Sounds like fun.”

I looked down at him, his skin glowing in the multi-colored flashing lights overhead, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen anything so beautiful. Before I knew it, we were making out and grinding our crotches together on the dance floor.

We got back to the hotel about an hour later, making out in the cab the whole way and on the elevator. I dragged him down the hall and into my room, nearly ripped off my and his clothes, and shoved him onto the bed.

He eyed my cock as I straddled him and took his very handsome cock in my hand. “Uh…”

“What?”

“Just so you know, I haven’t bottomed in a long time,” he said.

“I thought you said you and your ex just recently broke up.”

“Yeah, but he never once topped me. I offered to bottom for him but he said he preferred to bottom, which was fine with me because I’ve always been versatile. Even if he ever did top me, his dick wasn’t  _nearly_ as big as yours is.”

I smiled as I proudly looked down at my member. “Few are.”

“Actually, the last time I bottomed was with Brandon,” he admitted.

I frowned a bit at the mention of the man’s name, remembering that we had agreed I would get to top him the Monday after I got back from my trip, which was only five days away.

To distract myself from that, I crawled down between Justin’s legs and took the head of his dick into my mouth. I licked away the bit of pre-cum spilling out of his slit.

“I thought you once said that you don’t give head,” he said after letting out a gasp.

I looked up at him. “I can stop, if-”

“No,” he said. “Please, proceed.”

I smiled before getting back to business. Although it had been a while since I sucked a dick, I performed every trick I knew and managed to deep throat him like a pro. He was soon pulling my hair and panting like a bitch in heat, and he came down my throat with a loud groan.

“Oh… holy shit,” he said as he tried to catch his breath. “That… that was… amazing.”

I got up and retrieved the tube of lube and box of condoms I had brought with me in my suitcase. I sat them on the bed and got back into position between his legs.

Before I could do anything else to him, he put his hands around my neck and devoured my mouth. We continued to kiss as I found the lube, squirted some onto my fingers, and dipped one into his tight hole. He gasped and whimpered as I opened him up.

“You okay?” I asked him when he let me come up for a breath of air.

“Yeah… fuck me, Brian.”

There is no other combination of words in the English language that is more perfect than that one.

The first fuck was fast and furious, since I hadn’t cum yet. I was almost embarrassed by how fast I came, but he came before I did, so I didn’t feel too bad. I fucked him doggy-style the second time, much more leisurely than the first time, and he came twice before I did without me even touching his dick, which equaled to him having four orgasms in less than an hour. He said he had never done that in his life. I myself hadn’t done that since I was a teenager, and I was impressed by his resiliency.

When I was behind Justin, I found that he had a tattoo on his right shoulder blade depicting Mickey Mouse in  _Fantasia_ wearing his blue and white sorcerer’s hat and red robe. I later saw that he had Bugs Bunny’s smiling, buck-toothed face tattooed on his left ankle. Although the tats were a bit juvenile, they were timeless and fit him well.

The third and final fuck of the night nearly brought me to tears. He told me he wanted to ride me face-to-face, which is something I rarely ever do with tricks. I always prefer to be in control and even though my dick was still in his ass, being on my back like that made me feel a bit vulnerable.

He sat a slow pace as he fucked himself on my dick and stared down into my eyes, his warm breath on my face. I could see him in the soft glow of the wall sconces on each side of the bed, and I felt a connection with him that I had never felt with anyone else before. Just as I felt my eyes well up like I was some kind of lesbian, he gave me a kiss that reverberated down to my toes. We didn’t break the kiss until after we came at the same time, my hands tightly gripping his amazing ass.

Normally after me and a trick have both blown our loads, I can’t wait to pull out and wipe their cum off of me. This time, I held onto Justin so he couldn’t roll away and kissed him again, his warm cum slick between our bellies. My soft dick was starting to slip out of his ass, and we took a long shower where we continued to kiss under the hot spray as we washed each other with my French shampoo and soap. Since my sheets were now covered in our sweat and his cum, we walked down the hallway to his room to sleep on his clean sheets. We fell asleep with me spooning him, and I woke up with my dick in his mouth. Damn, that boy can give one hell of a blowjob…

The next day was spent on the beach, where the models were photographed in Honeycutt’s beachwear. There were several people sunbathing or swimming in the ocean, but we had managed to clear an area for us to have to ourselves. The weather was beautiful, the temperature in the mid-eighties and the sun was shining bright. Justin and I stole glances at each other throughout the afternoon. He even blew me a kiss at one point when nobody was looking, which normally would have made me roll my eyes if I saw it happen between another couple, but it made me smile like a fool.

Oh, shit, did I actually just refer to me and Justin as a couple? I must have left my brain and my nuts back in the Pitts… at least I didn’t blow him a kiss back.

We wrapped the shoot around four that afternoon, all of us satisfied with the great shots Raul had captured around town over the past four days. Once we got back to the hotel, Justin and I took a shower to wash off the sand and the sunscreen we had slathered on. He had still managed to get sunburned around the nape of his neck, and I kissed and licked the tender skin as I fucked him against the shower wall. He moaned my name as he came, and I had to bite my bottom lip from echoing with his name.

The two of us later went down to have dinner at a fusion restaurant located in the resort. It was quite fancy and the prices certainly reflected it. Since it was all going on my company credit card, Justin and I ate and drank like kings. Oh, how I love business trips.

We debated taking a cab to the gay area of town, but decided to stay in. To give Justin’s sore ass a break, we rented  _American Psycho_  on Pay Per View in my room. Justin had not seen it yet, but I had gone to see it with Mikey the previous year when it was in theaters. Justin and I both agreed that I was hotter and had a better body than Christian Bale. After it was over we debated the film’s confusing ending for a while until he shut me up with a kiss. We jerked each other off before falling asleep, me spooning him like I had the previous night.

The next day was our last full day in Puerto Vallarta, and Justin and I spent the morning in the hotel’s spa. After spending some time in the sauna, we got body polishes and side-by-side massages from a couple of very sexy Mexican boys. We then had mani/pedis and facials before going back up to my room. We were both very relaxed by that point and had to hold each other up in the shower. We had barely dried off before collapsing on my bed. Although the spa’s employees did all the work, a day at the spa has a wonderful way of making you feel exhausted.

After taking a little nap, we went to the bar downstairs where we had some sushi for a late lunch. We then rented a cabana on the beach in front of the hotel and enjoyed a couple of cocktails that were served to us by another sexy Mexican boy. He wasn’t wearing a thong, but he still got a nice tip.

Since we were supposed to get up early for our flight home the next morning, we stayed in my room again that night after eating dinner at the Mexican restaurant in the resort. We stripped and got in bed, and we spent several minutes kissing and fondling each other. After spending the whole day thinking about this, I picked up the tube of lube from the nightstand, and Justin was surprised when I put the tube in his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

After watching him look at me dumbfounded for several seconds, I took the tube back, popped the top, and squeezed some onto the fingers of his right hand. I had never in my life verbally told a man to fuck me and I wasn’t about to start now.

Something clicked in his little blonde head before he rolled me onto my back and started kissing me hungrily. He reached down between my legs, and I felt his slick index finger run around the rim of my asshole before it dipped inside. Since I hadn’t been fucked in a long time, I instinctually tried to force him out. The persistent boy pushed his way through, and I forced myself to relax as he slid his finger in as far as it would go.

He patiently and methodically prepared me over the next several minutes, all the while kissing me thoroughly. I couldn’t recall ever being so gentle with a man before, even when I knew the trick was a virgin, and I filed away his technique in my brain for future reference. What I always found to be a stressful and painful experience was quite enjoyable with Justin’s talented fingers at play.

He had tapped my prostate several times, and I was almost ready to cum before his dick had even been inside of me. Finally I had to pull my lips away in order to speak.

“Okay… okay,” I panted.

“Okay, what?” he asked, his magic fingers still doing their thing.

“I’m ready,” I answered.

He smiled. “Ready for what?”

I let out a growl. “You know what.”

He kissed me on my jaw before whispering, “Tell me… tell me what you want.”

The little shit… “I want you inside me.”

He kissed me on my lips before saying, “I  _am_  inside you.”

I then grabbed his wrist and pulled his fingers out of my hole. I rolled over and retrieved a condom from the nightstand, then threw the packet at him.

“You better do this before I change my mind, Goddamn it,” I huffed out, getting annoyed.

He chuckled as he tore the packet open. “Oh, you know you want me to fuck you… you’re just too proud to ask for it out loud.”

I narrowed my eyes at him as I watched him roll the condom onto his beautiful dick. Instead of getting into position to fuck me, he just laid there, his hand propping his head up like a blonde, mustache-less Burt Reynolds on a bear skin rug.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” I asked him, my asshole pulsating in anticipation, which had never happened before. I wanted him to fuck me so bad I was ready to maul him like a rabid dog.

He smiled again. “I’m waiting for you to tell me what you want.”

I sighed, then grabbed him by his wrist and pulled him on top of me. “Put your dick in my ass, Taylor.”

He let out another chuckle. “Yes, sir, Mr. Kinney,” he purred.

What ensued was nothing short of awe-inspiring. After spreading more lube over the condom, Justin pulled my long legs over his shoulders and slowly entered me inch by inch. It hurt at first, of course, but he waited while I adjusted to him, and then he started moving after I told him I was ready. Just like he had when he rode me the other night, Justin looked deep into my eyes while he slowly fucked me. I knew I had to be tighter than a clam shell, but he showed great restraint as he continued to pump in and out, gaining speed as the minutes ticked by.

I eventually lowered my legs and wrapped them around his waist, and he was able to reach my dick much easier. He started jerking me off in time with his thrusts, but I pulled his hand away a bit later. I wanted it to last as long as we both could hold out and I couldn’t remember the last time I had an orgasm without my dick being touched. I knew that if anyone could do it, this talented boy certainly could.

I was holding onto both of his biceps, most likely leaving little half-moon indentions as I dug my freshly manicured fingernails into him. I’m usually not very loud in bed, but I couldn’t help but moan with each exhale, it felt so amazing.

“Harder,” I grunted, lifting my hips as high as I could so he could penetrate me deeper.

“You’re so beautiful, Brian,” he panted, his blue eyes focused on me.

I smiled at him right before I came, and he followed me after a few more deep thrusts, both of us yelling out our approval. He tried to pull out after he finished, but I tightened my legs around his waist to keep him in place.

“Stay,” I said as I pulled him down to lay his head on my chest.

Jesus Christ… what the fuck was happening to me? Kissing him… blowing him… falling asleep with him… fucking him on more than one night… booking a “Couples” spa day and spending my last day in Mexico entirely with him… and finally, willingly bottoming for him and thoroughly enjoying it?

Its official: I’m totally fucked up and it’s all thanks to a pretty little blonde boy with a mouse on his back and a rabbit on his ankle. I’m just hoping that this insanity is only temporary. Maybe the warm weather, the alcohol, and the ocean air are distorting my normal rhythms, and once I’m back in cold, smoggy-ass Pittsburgh I’ll snap out of this funk.

 _But what about the kiss in the smoking lounge, Smart Guy?_ the nagging voice in my head asked me.  _Weren’t you the one who said to Brandon that you never kiss, because people kiss when they make love, and you don’t make love, you fuck? And you not only said that to him, but you’ve said it to countless other tricks before him who tried to swap spit! Whatcha got to say about that, huh?_

I must admit that Iwas the one who initiated that kiss in the lounge, although Justin happily returned it. And I also have to admit that what Justin and I have been doing these past few days was not fucking, but making love. I’ve fucked hundreds upon hundreds of men since losing my virginity at age fourteen, and never have any of them made me feel what Justin has made me feel during our time together. Even back when I would kiss the guy I was fucking or being fucked by, it was never like what I’ve felt with Justin.

I could feel him soften inside of me after a couple of minutes, so I finally let him pull out and throw the condom away in the trash can next to the bed. Like the thoughtful lover he was, he went into the bathroom and returned soon after with a warm, wet washcloth to wipe my cum off of my belly for me.

He laid back down beside me after we were both clean, and he snuggled up against my side. As I wrapped my arms around him, I told my nagging conscience that this was the last night Justin and I would spend together. Once we got back home, I would just have to forget that he and I ever happened and ignore all the lesbionic feelings I was having for him. I knew I would not be able to avoid him at the office, especially since we still had a lot to do on the Honeycutt campaign along with the other campaigns we will inevitably collaborate on in the future, but we would have to keep things professional for now on. No more lingering glances or exchanged smiles, and definitely no more kisses. If he ever blew me another kiss while no one was looking, I’d have to cut his hand off or something equally drastic to discourage him.

Because we weren’t home just yet, I fucked him one more time before we went to sleep.  _Fucked_ him, not  _made love_  to him. I did him doggy-style and was actually pretty rough with him. I gripped his hips tightly, which resulted in visible bruises the next morning, and I slammed into him as hard as I could.

No matter how hard I gave it to him though, he pushed back against me eagerly with every thrust. He was very vocal throughout the whole thing, moaning and telling me how good it felt. He even ordered me to spank him at one point, and I gave him a firm whap on his right butt cheek. He squealed happily, so I gave him a smack on his left cheek, which he also enjoyed.

We both flopped down on the bed in total exhaustion after we came, sweating like pigs and gasping for air.

“Holy shit… that was fucking hot!” he said, laughing. “I’m going to feel that for days!”

I couldn’t help but smile as I lit a cigarette. “Good.”

He fell asleep soon after, but I laid there next to him for the next couple of hours staring at him and watching him breathe in the light coming through the crack of the curtains. Once I finally fell asleep, it felt like all of five minutes later before the alarm clock blared at five a.m. for us to get up, packed, and down to the lobby to meet the girls for our shuttle to the airport at five-thirty.

Cynthia was originally supposed to have the seat next to mine from Puerto Vallarta to Chicago, where we were connecting to Pittsburgh, but she switched with Justin so we could sit together again. Apparently Justin was still exhausted from last night, because he conked out on my shoulder soon after our plane took off. I was listening to Led Zeppelin on my portable CD player when I too fell asleep at some point during “Kashmir”.

We woke up a little bit later to eat sandwiches that were for sale on the plane for lunch, and I watched as he sketched caricature versions of the two of us standing back-to-back with our arms crossed on a sketchpad he had in his messenger bag. He also had a pack of colored pencils, and he completed the drawing by having the smirking version of me in a red t-shirt and black pants and the smiling version of him in a blue t-shirt and brown pants. Although our heads were nearly as big as our bodies, I thought we looked great together. He tore the page out and gave it to me to keep, and I put it in my brief case. I didn’t tell him that I planned on framing it and displaying it in my loft to remember our trip.

I made Justin a member of the Mile High Club about an hour before we were to land. I went into one of the bathrooms and he joined me a minute later. He sat on the sink facing me while I fucked him… alright, while I made love to him. He was tender from the rough ride I gave him the night before, so I took it slow as I held him close and kissed him until we both finished. I held him and breathed in his scent afterward until a flight attendant announced over the intercom that we were beginning our descent into Chicago.

I caught Cynthia giving me a knowing smile from her window seat across the aisle from us as we sat back down. If she had any sense at all, she wouldn’t mention this later.

None of us had seats together on the small plane from Chicago, so I read a car magazine I bought in the airport while Justin finished  _Atlas Shrugged_  a couple rows in front of me.

A shuttle took us back to Vangard to retrieve our cars. I walked Justin to his, which was parked a few spaces down from mine in Bonehead Bob’s old spot, and helped him put his suitcase in the trunk.

“Do you want to go grab some dinner somewhere?” he asked after closing the trunk lid.

I shook my head. “Raul was supposed to email me the file containing the pictures from the shoot this morning, so I’ll be going through those at home tonight and tomorrow.”

“I can come to your place and look at them with you,” he said, clearly not wanting to part from me just yet.

It was hard for me to do, but I shook my head again. “No, I’ll weed out the bad photos, and you’ll see the good ones at the office on Monday. I’ll copy them to a disc and bring them in. How about you meet me in my office at nine-thirty on Monday morning?”

Justin pouted a bit and nodded. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you Monday, then.”

He started coming in for a kiss, but I stepped away before he could connect. “Later,” I called over my shoulder as I walked over to the Jeep, pulling my rolling suitcase behind me.

Justin came to my office at nine-thirty on the dot Monday morning, and he moved a chair so he could see my computer monitor. His tie that day featured Sylvester the Cat, and he wore it over a gray shirt with black slacks. We looked through the photos, which were magnificent, until almost noon. I had no doubt that Honeycutt would be very happy with them. Emmett was originally hoping to go to Puerto Vallarta with us to observe the shoot, but had to go to Milan instead for a charity event. I wasn’t disappointed that he wasn’t able to go, because his exaggerated mannerisms and thick accent would have only been a distraction.

I turned down a lunch invitation from Justin to grab a bite with him at the café down the street. I instead drove over to the Liberty Diner alone, where I chatted with Mikey’s mother Debbie at the counter while I ate my usual turkey on whole grain. She mentioned that I looked very relaxed after my trip, but the truth was that I felt torn up inside over the Justin Debacle that I allowed to transpire.

I went up to the art department after getting back to the building and met with the team in the conference room. Justin had one of his underlings print out the photos we deemed the best during lunch, and we spread them out on the table so we could all look them over together.

Vance stopped by around four to see the photos we had decided to use, and he was very pleased. We’ll see how pleased he’ll be next month after he gets the credit card bill for our trip…

I didn’t see Brandon all day, since he had no business poking his nose into my business, anyway. I was actually looking forward to our little rendezvous that night, since I knew it would help me get Justin out of my mind.

We wrapped at six that evening, and I took the elevator down to my office without saying goodbye to Justin. I had just put my Prada camel overcoat on and grabbed my briefcase before Justin knocked on my door.

“Hey,” he said, looking apprehensive as he leaned against the doorway. “So, uh… do you have any plans tonight?”

I turned off the light switch before walking out into the hallway and towards the elevator. “I do, actually.”

“Oh,” he said, his disappointment evident in his voice. “Okay, how about tomorrow night? We can grab some dinner and maybe go see a movie or something.”

We stopped at the elevators and I pressed the down arrow. “Justin… look, what went on in Mexico… it was fun and all, but now that we’re back home in the real world, I think it would be best if we go back to just being coworkers.”

He looked at me bitterly before scoffing. “ _What happens in Puerto Vallarta stays in Puerto Vallarta_ … is that the new saying?”

The elevator doors opened and we both stepped inside. “If you want to think of it that way, sure.”

I tried not to look at him, but I could see his reflection in the shiny elevator door as we rode down. He was frowning and looked like he was going to cry, and I felt my chest tighten.

I decided the best way to handle this was to not say anything. He had a different idea, though.

“So you’re just going to pretend like last week didn’t happen- that the time we spent together meant nothing?” he said, his words a bit choked.

I sighed. “It  _didn’t_  mean anything, Justin. All we did was fuck.”

 _Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Kinney,_  the nagging voice in my head taunted.

The doors opened on the first floor and we stepped out. We walked side by side into the garage and to our cars, neither of us saying anything. We reached his car first, and I told him I’d see him in the morning as I continued to my car.

“Fuck you,” I heard him mutter as he fumbled with his keys.

After getting in the Jeep, I sat there as I waited for his BMW to pass behind me and head toward the exit. Once he was gone, I turned the engine over, turned the heater on full blast to warm up, and rested my forehead on the steering wheel.

I felt like such a shit for hurting him, but I had to do what I had to do. I blinked back tears as I backed up out of my space and headed home.

There was a knock at my door at precisely eight o’clock that night. Wearing nothing but a white wife beater and a pair of jeans, I pulled the door open and found Brandon on the other side. I smirked at him for having the balls to actually show up.

“You can have my ass, but you can’t have me,” he announced.

I chuckled. “Defiant, even in defeat. I like that.” I stepped aside to allow him in, and I pulled the door closed.

He looked around the loft. “Nice place… so, can we get this over with?”

“Allow me to point the way,” I said before directing him toward my bedroom.

“Just go slow, and take it easy,” he said. “I don’t bottom very often.”

I chuckled again. “Well, you’ll have to tell me all about it.”

 _Bullshit!_ the nagging voice screamed.  _You know exactly what it’s like. You just had a dick up your ass a few days ago, and you fucking loved it! Maybe Justin could even teach this guy a thing or two._

I silently told the voice to shut the fuck up as Brandon walked over to my bedroom. I poured myself a couple shots of Jameson as I watched him strip, revealing his perfectly toned physique to me once again. I tossed the whiskey back before going over to meet him, finding him lying on his stomach on my bed.

I stood next to the bed staring at him for a few moments, and he looked over his shoulder impatiently. “Aren’t you going to collect your prize?” he asked.

I let out a slow breath. I decided to play the egotistical asshole card I dealt so expertly: “It’s not much of a victory considering my years of experience and expertise. Not only am I more attractive, have a bigger dick, and am a better pool player than you, but I’d bet I’m better at picking up tricks, too. I’ve had nearly every fuckable guy in this city.”

He rolled to his side to get a better look at me. “Your years are numbered, and there’s a younger generation of fags out there who you haven’t had. While you were frolicking on the beach in Mexico last week, I spent every night in the backroom at Babylon, which I understand is the castle of your kingdom of Liberty Avenue. I even got blown on the dance floor a couple of times. Nobody seemed to miss you. Maybe you should have let me go down to Mexico with you, so I couldn’t have had the chance to play in your castle while you were away. I’m the new guy in town and everybody wants me. You’re old news, Kinney, and its high time you admit it and hand over the crown to me.”

I was afraid of this day coming, when a new, younger guy would come along and dethrone me. I didn’t think it would happen so soon at my ripe old age of thirty, but here it is. Funny thing, but I didn’t really care that much and I doubted that I would mourn for very long, especially since there was a certain blonde out there who could help me get through it.

I stared at him a little while longer before bending over to pick up his jeans off the floor. “Put your pants on,” I said as I threw them at him.

“Huh?”

“I said, put your pants on,” I repeated. “And get out.”

“Whatever you say- you’re the winner,” he said before scooting down to the foot of the bed and pulling his pants back on.

I felt a new respect for Brandon as I watched him finish getting dressed. I almost expected him to taunt me after turning him down like I did, but despite his warnings that the sand in my hourglass was running out and that he was actively vying for my title as the Stud of Liberty Avenue, I could tell that he had respect for me, too. I could almost imagine me and Brandon being friends one day, since sex was no longer an issue between us. I had absolutely no desire to fuck him and there was no way in hell he was ever going to fuck me.

My ass belonged to only one man.

After Brandon was gone, I threw on my black leather Gucci ankle boots and Boss jacket before taking the stairs two at a time out to the street. I pointed the Jeep toward Justin’s loft and got there in less than three minutes.

His second-floor loft was only accessible by a rusted metal staircase bolted to the outside of the building. There was a doorbell next to the door, so I pressed it.

Justin opened the door a few moments later and scowled at me. “What the fuck do you want?”

I answered by grabbing him by the back of his head with both hands and crushing my lips on his. I pushed him into his loft and kicked the door closed behind me.

His mouth tasted like chocolate ice cream.

He let me kiss him for several more seconds, with him returning the kiss heartily, before he pushed me away. “What the fuck, Brian? You tell me all of two hours ago that I mean nothing to you, and now you’re here practically eating my face?”

“It’s such a gorgeous face, Sunshine, I can’t help but want to taste it,” I said, nearly laughing at how fucking cheesy I sounded.

He was the only man I wanted to taste.

He rolled his eyes. “I have no time for your games,  _Mr. Kinney_.”

“I’m through playing games. I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you earlier,” I said as I reached out to cup his erection through his blue flannel pajama pants. “I want to be with you.”

I glanced down and noticed that he was wearing a black t-shirt with Stewie from  _Family Guy_  on it. I would expect nothing less from my cartoon-obsessed boy.

“What made you suddenly change your mind?” he asked.

I ran my fingers along his cotton-covered shaft. “I realized that I have no interest in fucking anyone else and it’s all your fault. You’ve ruined me for other men.”

He whimpered at the attention I was giving his cock. “Well, tell whoever he is that made you come to this startling realization ‘thank you’ for me.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him, but later. Take me to bed and make love to me, Mr. Taylor,” I said as I looked down into his beautiful blue eyes.

He gave me a smile that lit up the room. “Yes, sir, Mr. Kinney.”


End file.
